White Noise
by ryttu3k
Summary: This was always going to happen. (Ocarina Link and Zelda, at the end.)


And eventually there will come a time when they wake up together, the rain a gentle white noise against the windows, shut but with the curtains undrawn and leaving the room in a comfortable grey half light. There's a chill in the air, winter still yet to draw to a close, but beneath the blankets, neither feel it.

She stirs, ever so slightly, stretching her legs beneath the covers, a slight shift of the hips. And her reward is movement from him as well - a yawn, an arm extending across her waist, a sleepy brush of lips against her collarbone.

She smiles despite herself, brushing her fingers against his cheek, and whispers, "Good morning, sleepyhead."

The childish nickname feels right, nostalgia that she does not remember.

Link's response is to let out an unintelligible murmur, raising his head peering at her with one bleary blue eye, his hair gloriously rumpled and sticking out in many directions. But there's a smile on his face, a genuine quirk of the lips, and his expression is peaceful. "How long've you been awake?" he says, a yawn stretching the last word.

"Only a minute," she whispers back, letting her fingers linger against the side of his face, "How did you sleep?"

"Like a log." The answer is immediate, and immediately tempered by a flash of a grin. "Only without the insects crawling all over me."

Zelda laughs in mock horror, shoving gently at his shoulder. "If you had been, you would have been banished from my bed," she says primly, tossing her head as best she can while still largely lying down.

It's easy to be like this with him - carefree, relaxed, the way they were as children.

His only response is to smile, squeezing her waist gently. "No bugs this time," he murmurs, "Let's keep lying down a little longer."

She is more than happy to do that, to have this moment of peace before the real world intrudes again. Today, she has meetings, she has briefings, she has a formal lunch with some of the nobility. Even before that, she has breakfast to attend, bathing and dressing to see to, a potion to drink; she glances up at the door as if expecting one of the maids to sweep in at that moment.

She should not be here, a princess disrobed with her closest friend in her bed.

...Her closest friend, whom she now knows somewhat closer than is strictly appropriate even for close friends.

Still, she does not regret it; his expression of wonder when she kissed him, his concentration as he struggles with the buttons and clasps on her dress, his awe as he tentatively reached out to touch her, they are all part of a memory she will cherish.

Regrets what they may say, certainly. Zelda is still unmarried, and her father is getting on in years. She knows that they will push her to find a husband, to begin producing the next generation of the Royal Family. She knows that the matter is not as urgent as her counterpart from a time she cannot touch, the queen of a desperately damaged country, whose sadness Link has never been able to shake - that Zelda, the one that she suspects Link still sees sometimes when he looks at her, is the last of their line. In comparison, she has all the time in the world.

But she still knows what they will say, that they will murmur about the heroic young Captain of the Guard, to scrutinise his every move and to start assessing whether - perhaps - he would be a suitable match for their still-unmarried princess.

It is simply not the done thing, to be unmarried at her age, closing in on the end of the third decade, and yet she cannot imagine being a wife and a mother.

If Link was to -

And she shakes her head and sighs, allowing herself to be content with watching Link's face, peaceful for once, even the scar across his eye fading from view for just this little while. Let them have peace, for they do not know what tomorrow will bring.

"Would you ever marry me?" she whispers, half surprised at her own words, half longing to know.

His lips twist a little, his brown furrowing. "I don't know," he whispers back. "Zelda, I love you, but one day you will be Queen and I - I don't know if I could do it. I don't know if I could stay here, surrounded by everything that..." He turns to her, good eye opening again, reaching for her hands, and the light in his eye is faded and haunted. There's pleading in its depth, pleading for her to understand.

There are shadows beneath them, but if she looks closely, she can see the shadows within as well.

She smiles in response, sadly. "I think you may be my soul mate," she confesses, and he nods in response.

"And you mine," he agrees as easily as breathing. "And I always will be, I think, no matter whether we just stay as friends or take things further -"

"There's no such thing as 'just' friends." It's a gentle chide, and she lowers her lips to his hair. "What we did - it was good. But that doesn't mean things have changed forever - you will always be the most important person in my life." Her lips curve up, but there's no joy in her eyes. "No matter what choice you make."

He nods once, falling silent for a time, and Zelda allows herself to watch him.

Perhaps it would be cruel to keep him here. Certainly, he would live in a luxury he would have never experienced in the forest and certainly did not experience in the barracks, but Link is a wanderer. The sky calls to him, the forests, the fields. The Guard has learned to brush it off when the Captain feels the call of the wild; they know that Link is a child of the world and that he must return to it or risk stagnation.

He reminds her of the horses he so loves, one that once experienced the wide open skies and plains but now falls into despair when forbidden from running free.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and she glances down at him sharply before the realisation strikes her.

"You're leaving again," she returns softly. He nods once, his eyes remaining shut, and she bites down on her lip.

She could order him to stay, and he would. She could beg him to stay, and he would tell her that he had never intended to leave her, honestly. But she knows him well enough to know that there would be a seed of unhappiness that would begin to grow, the longer he was caged in the castle, and she cares too deeply to be the cause of his grief.

"Stay safe," she whispers instead, placing a kiss over his temple, and rising from the bed in defiance of every instinct that drew her back towards sleep, towards a moment caught in time where there would be no need to pull apart.

This was always going to happen. She has dreamed of it, over and over, watching herself on a grey and raining day as Link rides away from the castle, and she cannot see what comes next.

* * *

The days pass. And the weeks, and the months, and a year.

And then she dreams, her feet leading her away from the castle in the waking world, the first rains of spring dripping off her hair and her cloak as she moves unerringly to the place her unconscious was calling her to. She is not surprised at what she finds there, either - instead, she merely sits down crosslegged in the wet undergrowth, her fingers a bare half-inch from the metal gauntlet he wore.

"If I had asked you to stay," she starts, her voice as even as she can muster, "You would have. Wouldn't you? But - you would have been unhappy, I think. We are different people, and your place is here - under the trees and the sky."

She gazes up, at the leaves shining in the rain, a few cautious rays of sunshine peering through where the clouds are thinnest, and for a moment she thinks she can see the fairies that protect the forest.

"I must remember that. If I had asked, you would have stayed, and..." Her voice dies in her throat, and her gaze slides from the tarnished gauntlet to the bones they contain. "But you would have despaired, I think, and maybe this would have happened anyway, only you would have left full of unhappiness and resentment. This way, you were free, and..."

Finally, she lifts her head, gazing at where blue eyes had once gazed back at her. "I hope it was happy," she whispers, "The last days of your life. I hope your death was peaceful."

She has brought no shovel with her, but the ground is soft and a wide length of wood, splintered from a tree in a long-ago lighting storm, does the trick, and she welcomes the ache as she works. But finally it is ready, and she kneels before him for one last time.

She cannot think of any last words to say, other than a murmured, "Thank you", and bears him with her magic to his resting place; his shield as a pillow, his sword at his side, the ocarina on his chest.

The first load of soil skitters across his armour, and she does not allow herself to pause until her task is complete, moving quietly as she gathers every flower she can find, the last of the winter snowdrops and the first of the spring beauties, ignoring her arms growing numb and her dress growing damp and muddy, not stopping until the grave is covered in a riot of colour.

Her throat tight is as she presses a kiss to the tips of her fingers and then the tips of her fingers to the mound she has raised to protect his bones in his slumber.

"Good night, sleepyhead," she whispers as she rises, and by the time she reaches the forest's edge, the rain has finished and the sun is shining and the birds are singing and a golden wolf is watching her go. "Goodbye, Link," she concludes, and walks away.


End file.
